


Save The Last Dance For Me

by WeCouldPretend



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adorable dancing, Angst, Cuties can't work out their issues, Galahad's a good teacher, M/M, Mordred can't dance, Mordred has PTSD, Poor Mordred, The Lady has to help them with it, The boys are both idiots, major angst, poor boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2012400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeCouldPretend/pseuds/WeCouldPretend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mordred doesn't know how to dance, so he resigns to asking his friend for help. He gets a bit more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save The Last Dance For Me

Mordred stood outside of Lady Brangaine’s door, took a deep breath and swallowed his pride. The youngest of Guinevere’s handmaidens would never let him hear the end of this, friend that she was. There was no doubt that she’d help him, but he wasn’t quite sure if he could actually stomach her as a teacher. Then again, better that it was Bran laughing at him than the entire court. He took another deep breath and knocked.

His face burned and his eyes burned as he heard someone come to the door. The floor suddenly seemed a lot more interesting as Mordred stared at it and the door opened. “I need you to teach me how to dance before the feast, because I can’t.” Mordred’s words rushed out without permission as he winced. Now his fate was sealed. She would eat him alive.

“Mordred? What are you doing?” The voice that echoed up at him from the floor was decidedly male. And very familiar. He looked up to find Galahad there, Galahad with his perfect golden hair and those storm grey eyes. Mordred’s throat closed up instantly. For a moment, it was all he could do not to fall over. Galahad...Was in Bran’s rooms? Something deep inside him broke.

“I had no idea...I mean... I’m sorry to interrupt, I’ll just go..” He stammered, trying to back away as fast as he could. The stammered speech lacked all of his normal venom. Mordred felt like he’d just been kicked in the chest. His best friend and his crush.

“What? No! No.” Galahad recoiled, just as shocked as Mordred was. “Bran sent me to fetch her embroidery. She’s moody and bored sitting in that henhouse of a parlor trying to keep herself and Auntie Guin sane.”

“So you’re not...” Mordred trailed off, hint clear in his voice.

“No, not at all.” Galahad laughed, showing him the small basket of embroidery. “Did you just say you needed her to teach you to dance?”

Mordred winced. He’d almost forgotten about that little thing he’d let slip. “Oh, that. Right. Yes.”

“Bran’s going to tease you to pieces!” Galahad snickered, trying not to let the laugh slip through. Then a thought occurred to him. “Hey, I could teach you, if you like. I promise to be nicer than Bran at least.”

Mordred considered this for a moment, and the idea did show promise. He’d look like less of a fool that way and he knew that Galahad would keep his secret. “Well I already asked, didn’t I?”

Galahad beamed at him, seemingly delighted at the prospect of teaching his friend how to dance. “It’s a date. I’ll meet you in your quarters after dinner?”

Mordred nodded to finalize these plans then took off like a bolt from a crossbow.

The door creaked open and Galahad let himself into Mordred’s rooms without a second thought. Mordred was his best friend and anything that Mordred could possibly be doing would be fine with him. It was oddly quiet in the room that usually boast such a vibrant individual. They’d agreed to meet here, so Galahad knew that Mordred was somewhere nearby, if not directly in the room.

He wandered over to the fire only to discover that Mordred was curled up in the armchair, passed out. Galahad smiled down at him for a moment before leaning down and shaking him awake gently. Mordred twitched, then lunged at Galahad with a very large knife.

“Woah there lad. Just me, you’re safe.” Galahad sighed, expertly catching the wrist with the knife and twisting it to get rid of it before he gently pulled Mordred into his arms. The smaller knight struggled for a moment, resisting the embrace before realizing who it was that held him. Then he went limp and let Galahad hold him until his heartrate slowed. Galahad pulled back when he was certain that Mordred was alright. He could never be too careful with the younger boy, ever since they’d rescued him from his mother a few years past, things had been touch and go with his reactions. “Back with me now?” Galahad asked cautiously.

“Yes, fine.” Mordred snapped, although it lacked any heat. “You’re here to teach me how to dance right?”

“That’s right. But I think you should go to bed, you look exhausted.” Galahad looked pointedly at the door to his bedroom, which had been left open.

“Not a chance! I need to learn this now and you promised.” Mordred pouted, uncurling himself and heaving himself out of the chair and into Galahad’s personal space.

“So I did, and so I shall.” Galahad murmured, taking Mordred’s hands gingerly and placing one on his hip and the other on his shoulder. He put his own hands into position before he backed them up into a better spot for dancing. “Alright, this is a one-two-three step pattern. Go ahead and stand on my feet so you can get a feel for it. Don’t worry, you won’t hurt me.”

“Believe me, that is the last thing I am worried about.” Mordred yawned, taking all of the fire out of the remark as Galahad started moving. He showed Mordred the most basic steps before showing him a harder one. By the time he had finished with that, he slowed them both down to the easiest dance possible, just cradling Mordred closely and moving them both in a slow circle. It was a rocking, hypnotizing movement that had Mordred falling asleep on Galahad’s chest. Before Mordred even had the chance to voice protests, Galahad had tipped him into the bed and pulled a comforter over him. Mordred passed out almost instantly, exhausted from his efforts and the restless nap earlier.

With that accomplished, Galahad pulled out another blanket and a spare pillow from the chest and took them over to the hearth. He banked up the fire before settling down on the thick rug. There was no chance at all of him leaving tonight, he’d seen the warning signs. Mordred was in a bad place, mentally, and Galahad was not going to let his friend suffer from the nightmares that plagued him if he could help it.. With that thought in mind, he fell asleep in front of the fire.

In the morning, Galahad woke up to the distinct sound of a door opening. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, only to find Mordred stirring next to him. He had a vague memory of waking up in the middle of the night to save Mordred from a nightmare. The younger boy must have come with him back to the hearth. He had no problem with that, not at all. However it was a rather awkward place to wake up in with someone walking in.

“Boys? Where are you?” Brangaine’s voice floated over to Galahad, who instantly relaxed and lay back down. She was safe, no matter how you looked at it. Bran was tough as nails and they’d grown up together. If anyone could handle this situation, it was her.

“Over here, quiet, he’s still asleep.” Galahad whispered, comforting his sleeping friend as best he could. Mordred stopped stirring and relaxed again, unwittingly burrowing himself into Galahad’s arms. Galahad sighed and stared down at Mordred, with a vain kind of hope in his eyes.

Bran came around the corner and sat with them, folding her legs underneath her as she sat on the floor. “He likes you too, you know.” Bran commented, giving Galahad a soft look, chuckling at the confused look he shot her. “Oh come on, Gallie, it’s plain to see that you feel for him him. It’s even clearer that he absolutely adores you. Honestly, boys are so stupid sometimes.” She sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Alright, so what do I do about it?” Galahad asked, perplexed by this revelation. It was the first time he’d ever experienced this, although it didn’t really feel like a shock to him, to learn that Mordred liked him back. They’d always been close, even though the greater majority of Camelot was under the impression that they hated each other. It wasn’t their fault that they disagreed a lot in public only to settle things in private, when they had time and space to come back to square one, in which they’d been saying the same thing all along.

“Well, I’d start by keeping him here this morning, with you. Do something fun together. In private.” She suggested as she pulled out a dagger and started cleaning her nails with it. “When the time is right, and you’ll know it when it comes, just kiss him. I swear to the gods, don’t even try to think about it or you will both suffer for it. Just one small kiss. Then see how he reacts.”

“And what if he reacts badly?” Galahad’s hushed whisper sounded as if he was on the edge of hope and tears at the same time. Bran sighed, shaking her head as Galahad’s arms tightened reflexively around Mordred. Both of them took a moment to consider the sleeping boy nestled between them.

“If he does, he’s either confused about the way you feel or he’s having another attack. Either way, you’ll know how to help. You always have.” Bran’s reasoning sounded as solid as could be, he couldn’t deny that. “Remember that one time when he managed to wedge himself up in that crawl space in the hay loft? He wouldn’t let anyone but you near, and we were what, thirteen? Believe me, he trusts you more than anyone and you shouldn’t let that go.”

Galahad took a minute to consider this. Of all the people that Mordred had access to after they’d saved him from his mother, it had been Galahad who he’d trusted. Mordred had just turned thirteen and three years later they were still utterly inseperable. He was trying to let his brain wrap around the idea that Mordred might want the exact same thing that he did. Galahad looked up at Bran, utterly at odds with himself over this. She gave him a calculated look, considering her options before she spoke. “Just let me take care of it. I’ll let the King and your dad know roughly what‘s going on, I’ll bring food around nine, noon and six and leave it at the door. Just stay in today and relax, alright?” Bran requested, patting Galahad on the head before getting up and leaving. Galahad was so flustered that he barely managed a fleeting thank-you before she was gone.

This whole thing was too much. Galahad couldn’t find the words or the coherency to deal with any of this. What he could do, what he could always do, was seek comfort with Mordred. So, he did just that and curled himself around his sleeping friend. They were able to dose quietly together for another half an hour as Galahad emptied his mind and lost himself to the feeling of having Mordred in his arms. Eventually, Mordred began to stir in his arms, nuzzling at Galahad’s arm even as he blinked awake. It was one of the few times that Mordred had ever woken up peacefully; his wake up calls usually ended up with a knife near someone’s face.

The younger boy looked up at Galahad and smiled. It was a soft, content smile that harbored just a touch of wonder, as if Mordred couldn't believe his luck. Galahad returned the smile in equal measures and gave his friend a cheery, “Good morning.”

Mordred’s eyes widened in surprise, tinged with a sort of resigned hurt that tore at Galahad. Even seeing that look in Mordred’s eyes hurt him, knowing that he was the cause was a thousand times worse. He couldn’t help but try to find some way to make it up to the little Pendragon.

“I got the day off for us, I figured we could both use it and it’d be a good chance to work on your dancing.” Galahad smiles, trying to remember how blissful he’d been not two minutes before. “Sorry to wake you, I thought you were pretty well out of it. But it looked like you were having a good dream, want to share?”

“No, no that’s fine.” Mordred mumbled, signing imperceptibly before rolling out from under their shared blanket and onto his feet. “I do want to get started on the dancing though, just let me change.”

“It’s a deal. Do you still have that set of my clothes in here or did I already wear those?” Galahad asked,  pulling himself up as well, bundling the blanket and the pillow with him.

“They’re still here.” Mordred replied, stealing the second blanket from Galahad’s arms. Together they brought their makeshift bed back into Mordred’s room and made the bed together. It had become habit for them, even on days when they slept apart. One would go over to the other’s room, wake them up and begin the morning over there before going back to the other room and completing the same chores there. It was automatic and familiar and simple, keeping them both centered. Each had sets of clothes in the other’s rooms for such occasions, and Galahad used one of these now.

Once all of this was settled and the bedroom was back to being it’s usual pristine, Mordred lead his friend out to the main open area again. “Now where were we yesterday?”

“We were working on a couple different ones, as I recall. But, I think you've mastered the basics of those, so we’ll move on to something  a bit harder. I’m going to teach you a few basic turns and dips.” Galahad announced, settling back into the same stance they’d worked on last night before Mordred had collapsed. Mordred stepped back into his personal space and settled his hands onto Galahad’s shoulder and clasped their hands together.

“Elbow a little higher, yes that’s it. Ready?” Galahad asked, smiling at Mordred sweetly and rubbing his hand along the small of Mordred’s back in an attempt to calm him further. A relaxed stance always helped. To Galahad’s surprise, Mordred just did exactly the same thing that he had last night; he put his head down on Galahad’s shoulder and took a deep breath. Galahad’s composure crumbled at the sight, his best friend was clearly hurting, and he wanted to help if he could. So instead of keeping the carefully dictated stance of this particular style of dance, he tucked himself closer to Mordred and folded his arms around the shoulders of the dark haired teen. “Hands on my waist for this one, Mordred. We’re going to practice the footwork a bit.” Galahad directed, pulling Mordred into a close embrace.

“One-two-three again?” Mordred asked, willingly wrapping his arms around Galahad’s waist to settle into the dance. Galahad nodded, and began leading them through it. It took less than ten minutes for Mordred to stumble. The slip up was small, yet Mordred huffed tightly and frowned. Galahad caught the force of the unhappiness again and rubbed another circle into the Mordred’s shoulder. The younger boy continued to trip over himself, over Galahad and on any crack he seemed to find in the ground. The floor became more and more interesting, for Mordred spent more time staring at it than paying attention to the steps. After another twenty minutes of gentle encouragement, Galahad found that Mordred could no longer function in any way that was remotely encouraging.

The blond boy promptly halted any movement and pulled his partner to the stop the dance. Mordred refused to look up at his teacher, heedless of the halt. Galahad sighed patiently, and pulled his hand around to cup Mordred’s jaw. He stopped thinking about it, remembering what Bran said. Galahad’s eyes fluttered shut and he could feel Mordred’s hot breath on his cheek. He did not leave time for Mordred to pull back, he just leaned forward and pressed them into a kiss.

Mordred gasped as he felt Galahad’s lips on his own. He’d closed his eyes before Galahad moved his head, unwilling to let the pain effect his friend like it had affected him. It was his dream and he wouldn’t be pushing or begging for anything. It wasn’t worth risking his happiness to let others see his condition. But the mere sensation of Galahad’s lips on his own sent those walls crumbling away. Galahad cared, he’d always cared, and no matter what happened now, he would still care. Here, alone together in his rooms, nothing could touch them. In light of this, all Mordred could truly think was; My gods, he wants me. He actually wants me. The dreams are coming true.

He responded to his friend in that split second, kissing Galahad back and clutching at him like there wasn’t another soul in the world. The kiss ended as suddenly as it began. Mordred clung on to that fleeting sensation of wholeness as Galahad brushed a hand across his face.

“Mordred? Oh gods I’m so sorry, I’ve ruined everything. I’m sorry, please, don’t cry.” Galahad begged, trying to stem the flow of tears on Mordred’s face. The younger boy’s eyes opened, glowing with amazement and hope and utter frustration.

“You perfect idiot. I’m not sad, I’m happy. I have wanted that, wanted you for years.” Mordred murmured, pressing another tentative kiss to Galahad’s lips.

“And I you, Mordred. I couldn’t take the pain anymore. You were hurting so badly, I had to try.” Galahad’s whisper was low and tired, as if he was exhausted.

“I shall take that into consideration for the next time I have to make an earthshattering decision, shall I?” Mordred laughed, burying his face in the crook of Galahad’s neck.

“Well, I see no reason for you to be alone in those things again, as I anticipate staying for as long as I am able.” Galahad said firmly, taking both of Mordred’s hands in his own before leading them back into Mordred’s room. Mordred smiled blissfully at that, and allowed Galahad the control. Before long, both boys were curled up together in Mordred’s bed with the blankets pulled over them. There in the dark, they shared another sweet kiss before Galahad pulled his companion into his arms and demanded that they get some more sleep. The younger one agreed drowsily and curled into Galahad’s protective arms.  

The pair of young knights slept better that day than any night that either could recall. Sound, healing sleep to repair a set of souls rubbed raw from the tension between them. Peace did not come often for the pair, but when it did, it was well worth it to be together rather than apart. This point was proven at the ball, two nights later. Mordred looked as if he’d been dancing for years, something that both Bran and his other partners were thrilled about. No matter what they might say, or which event they were attending, Mordred always saved the last dance for Galahad.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave suggestions, prompts or notes!


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